Afrika (8 page)

A phone rang in another room and Themba's grandfather got slowly to his feet. Kim was relieved when he left the room and the tension would end. She watched Themba carefully line up some ice cubes in the middle of a cloth. “What's up next door?” she asked.

“They have finished the interview,” said Themba. He sat beside her on the sofa and stretched out his long legs.

“And my mom? Did you get anything out of her?”

“I found out something,” he said as he held the cloth up to her ankle. “How's that?”

“Better,” she answered. His eyes caught hers. It was almost as if the anger toward his grandfather had released the tension inside him and calmed him.

“After the interview was over Andries was bugging your mom for a date. He said to her: ‘It's been a long time since you've been with that would-be writer.’” Themba held the ice in place. “I bet that's your father.”

Kim remembered that her mother had told her this detail when she gave her the notebook. “My mom told me he wanted to be a writer.”

“We could check libraries and book stores but we need a first and a last name.”

“I'll try,” Kim said. “Thanks.”

Themba continued to press the cloth against her ankle. Kim noticed how pale her skin was against his black hand. There was a pause.

“Thanks for not telling those kids my surname,” she said. She kept her eyes fixed on her ankle instead of looking at him.

“You're safe with me,” Themba responded.

There was more silence. Kim looked around the room. Her eyes rested on a framed photo on the table beside the sofa.

“Is that your father?” Kim asked. The man in the photo had dark skin and Themba's teasing eyes.

With his free hand Themba lifted the photo and showed it to Kim. “Yes,” said Themba. “He was a freedom fighter. He and many others fought for the freedom we have today.”

Kim didn't know what to say. Her ankle throbbed as Themba moved the ice around to the top of her foot. She picked up her Coke.

“The curious thing is, I knew something was going to happen that night,” Themba said. He looked over his shoulder to make sure his grandfather was still in the other room. “I woke up shivering, even though it was a hot night. When I heard the sound of the gravel under the police van, I pulled Sophie under the bed with me. It was the middle of the night – another kind of dark – Sophie was four and I was six. Ma was not there – nor was my grandfather – so I had to take care of my sister.”

Kim put down her Coke bottle. She was trying to concentrate on Themba's words. They came out slow and gentle as if he was talking about something that had happened to someone else.

“In two seconds they had kicked down the front door, shattered a window, and marched like beasts out the back door. Under the bed I held Sophie tightly so she would not cry. She peed all over me.”

He was sitting very close to Kim and continued to hold the ice in place on her ankle. His fingers trembled. “After a few minutes I crawled up to the window and pressed my eye against the glass,” he said.“They found my father hiding in the back shed. I could see in the light from the headlights that Pa's
ear was bleeding. His eye was hurt – swollen shut – like the eye that wouldn't open on Sophie's doll. He was dressed in his underwear and there was something like ma's old
lappie
stuffed in his mouth.” He paused, swallowed, and then added. “They threw him in the back of the van like a dog.”

Kim chewed on a hangnail. Her cheeks were hot. She wanted to take the ice out of Themba's hands and rub it over her face.

“That was the last I ever saw of him,” Themba added.

Kim turned so sharply that she almost upset her Coke. She forced herself to stay seated. This had happened with Lettie too. Sometimes Lettie's troubles were so huge and distressing that Kim felt like fleeing from her presence like a thief.

She wanted to say something to Themba, but no words came. She wanted to put her hand out and touch him, but her limbs were frozen. Instead, she stared out the window where Themba had watched his father disappear. Riana and Andries had returned to the car. Andries was smoking, leaning up against the passenger door. Kim saw her mother rake her fingers through her hair as if to soothe a building headache.

Kim had never felt this close to Themba. She remembered his earlier words,
You're safe with me
and how his voice had reassured her. Yet she did not have
a single word of comfort for him. Instead she said something inane and distant in a voice that was not unlike her own mother's.“I'm sorry.” She got to her feet and left.

“W
hat are you going to do today while I'm in school?” Kim asked her mother as she adjusted the tie on her school uniform.

Riana slumped into her chair and muttered, “Huh?”

Lord, she's really losing it now
, Kim thought. Her mother was not even out of the old checked shorts and white T-shirt that she slept in. In fact, she had been in the same clothes for a couple of days in a row. Her hair, unbrushed and unwashed, was a complete mess. The house was freezing. The kitchen tiles were ice-cold. Kim wondered if Riana was even okay to be left on her own. She guessed that her mother would probably sit there until Lettie came to make her a cup of the orange-red rooibos tea that Riana loved so much.

“Mom, you need to pull yourself together,” Kim said, grabbing her school blazer from the back of the chair and pulling it on. “Where are your shoes? Have you answered Oom Piet's phone messages?”

Riana glanced dully across at her.

It was no use. Riana would have a couple of good days where she would throw herself into her work with ferocious energy, and all would appear sane. Then, without warning, she would explode into hysterics or crash into inactive silence.

Now there were the nightmares to contend with. Kim never remembered Riana having sleeping problems before and it frightened her. “Last night you had a nightmare supreme,” Kim told her.

“I did?”

“You cried out,” Kim said. “Then you talked – shouted – in your sleep. It was your second nightmare this week. Don't you remember?”

Riana shook her head, unable to call it up. In addition to the interview with Themba's neighbor, she was working on a particularly difficult story about a woman, a member of a previously banned organization, whose teenage daughter had lost four fingers and an eye when a parcel had exploded in her hands. The package had been meant for the woman, not the girl, a detail that deeply upset not only the mother of the injured girl, but Riana as well.

Riana drew her legs beneath her to keep her feet off the cold kitchen floor. “Kim,” she said, “we need to talk about something.”

Kim sat down across from her. “No more smoking, Mom. That's what we need to talk about.”

Last night Kim had gotten up in the middle of the night because she thought she smelled something burning. She found her mom in the chair near the fireplace smoking cigarettes with a full ashtray in her lap.

Riana blinked twice and then looked at Kim, frightened. “Okay. Fine. But …” she began, then stopped.

“What?” Kim searched her mother's face trying to predict what was coming. Riana's unwashed hair appeared more dark than blonde, and there were circles under her eyes.

“They want me to stay for a bit longer.”

Kim practically fell off her chair. “What?”

“They want me for three more mon –”

“Who's they – Andries?”

“Not
Andries.
My producer.”

“Are you out of your skull?” Kim fired back. “You are already waking up nights scared to death. We'll be lucky if you survive the remaining five weeks, never mind three more months!”

Riana's cell phone rang and she jammed the phone to her ear. “Ja, Ja, I will, ja, I will try,” she said into her cell.

Kim jumped to her feet, remembered her ankle was still sore, and grabbed the kitchen table for support. She was amazed to see her mother on the
phone conducting business. As if everything was fine! Was it her imagination or had Riana's accent become stronger in the six weeks since they had been here? It didn't take a genius to figure it out: first it would be three months, and then six months, then who knows how long? Kim might never see Canada again.

Riana flipped her cell closed and turned to face her daughter.

“Kim, you're doing fine. I mean, I'm so proud of how you're making out in your new school.”

“I hate that school.” Kim cried.

“What about your new friends?”

“What friends?”

“Marjorie. Themba.”

“Marjorie is
not
a friend,” Kim said. “And Themba is … different.”

Kim's face flushed as she spoke Themba's name. Riana glanced quickly into the garden.

“He's not here,” Kim told her. “He had soccer last night and stayed in the township.”

Riana turned back to her daughter. “Kim, journalists are here from all over the world. It is an honor to report on this.”

“Something's the matter with you,” Kim said gripping the edge of the table. “In Canada you weren't like this: smoking, nightmares, forgetting to get dressed in the mornings. Everything makes you sad. You, like,
seesaw
from one emotion to another.”

“My therapist said it was no good running from the commission. She says I have to stay and face it.”

“Five weeks, Mom. That's enough time left for you to face whatever you need to face.”

“Kim, please.”

“No!” shouted Kim.“I won't stay here one day longer than we agreed on!”

Before Riana could respond, a car honked. What perfect luck: it was Marjorie's mother. Today – an exception – Kim took three, eager, let-me-out-of-here strides toward the car, ignoring the pain in her ankle. Riana tried to catch her arm, but missed. Kim slammed the door and, wincing slightly, made her way down the gravel driveway to the street.

Kim's anger at her mother reminded her of the dream that had shaken her awake the night before. In the dream, she was running after a man whose face she could not see, and he was getting away from her. Kim kept trying to reach out to him, but her arms were heavy as if weighted down, and her legs were deep in quicksand. She woke to darkness, her heart pounding, a tangle of sheets around her sweaty body.

Kim got into the back of Marjorie's car, trying to shake off the memory of the dream. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the running man was. In Canada she had hardly ever thought about her father, let alone dreamt of him. Once, a girl back
home who couldn't stop talking about her own father and an amazing ski trip they had gone on together, had asked Kim about her dad. Kim had been cool and noncommittal. “He left before I was born,” she had said.

The girl had been shocked.

“We were the ones who left, actually,” Kim quickly told her. “My mother left him before I was born.” This explanation hadn't made any difference to the girl, but the declaration that they had deserted
him
made Kim feel better.

“After school, I might have some girls over for tea,” said Marjorie, interrupting her thoughts. “Could you come?”

What did Marjorie, with her yellow hair and very proper accent, think of her? “I can't,” Kim said, turning away from Marjorie's crystal blue eyes.“I'm playing soccer with Themba.”

Marjorie's mouth fell open. It was the first time Kim noticed Marjorie was wearing lipstick. They drove the rest of the way to the school in silence. But when they reached the school grounds and climbed out of the car, Marjorie put one hand on her waist and said,“Watch out. Don't ever be alone with him. Our Blacks aren't the same as yours.”

A new wave of anger washed over Kim. But before she could say a word to defend Themba, Marjorie strolled away from her, toward her tight
clique of girlfriends. Resisting the urge to baby her ankle, Kim found herself running hard and fast toward the field at the side of the school. A pleasant feeling of exertion spread through her. Sometimes, like right now, all she wanted to do was get away from everything: her mother, the commission, Marjorie. On the edge of the field, in front of a group of boys who were kicking a soccer ball, was Themba.

“Anything the matter?” he asked seeing her face.

Kim caught her breath and said, “My mom's crazy. She wants to stay here a few more months and I want to leave – today!”

“Leave today? What about your pa?”

At that moment, Kim found the soccer ball in her path. She kicked it with a satisfying
whack.
Her ankle was back in working order. “I just want to go home,” she yelled.“I don't care if he is dead or alive!”

Themba dug his hands into his hips. “Be careful what you say. If it were
my
father, I would want to know everything. Every single detail.”

“Then why tell your mom you won't go to the hearing,” she shouted, angry all over again. “Your mom wants you to go, but you keep saying no!”

His eyes flashed. “Keep quiet,” he snapped. “Keep quiet about things … you … know … nothing … about!” He jerked past her to join the soccer game.

His words – spat out like that – felt like a punch in the stomach. For a moment Kim was immobilized.
Get out of here
, she told herself.
Get away, before you kill someone.
She was about to turn and run when suddenly, James, the short boy with the gigantic ears, was right up beside her.
“Kaffir-lover”
he hissed, his cheeks rosy from running.